


After Moon

by lovesickjily



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All The Tropes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Flirting, Reincarnation, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, but they do, sorry these tags don't seem to make sense together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 09:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesickjily/pseuds/lovesickjily
Summary: When the universe sent Lily back in time for some inexplicable reason, she didn’t realise that she’d fall for the charming, messy-haired Prince along the way, nor did she realise that she’d see him once again.





	After Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beaubcxton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaubcxton/gifts).



> happy birthday to my lovely kyra who shines brighter than all of the stars in the world!! i wanted to give this a name concerning the sun or moon because i, the moon, so desperately want to reflect all the radiance that you give off as the sun in my world. there's also the fact that twice came out with a song with this lovely name and it's just so fitting ahhhhhh i love you so much and i hope you love this

There was something oddly calming about the tenderness of the soft waves of the lake.

The water felt cool against her toes as she skimmed the edges, breaking the otherwise stillness of the gentle motions, and she moved her feet in small spirals, as if she was directing the choreography for the stream’s soft, graceful movements.

Her jeans— which she admitted were most definitely _not_ the most appropriate wear for the outdoors in this scorching heat, what with the temperatures being _much_ too hot for spring, a time for flowers to blossom and rejoice at the sun’s newly-made appearance after months of the cold fragility of winter— had been rolled up as much as they possibly could before ultimately being able to cut the circulation off from her thighs, and her long-sleeved shirt had been rolled up to her shoulders. Perhaps she should have let loose, should have worn an outfit that revealed more skin, because if the sun had finally shied away from hiding in the clouds, then her skin should have shied away from the constraints of clothing as much as possible as well.

Only, it was far too late for a change of wardrobe now.

She’d been dragged off with her family to spend time together, but between Vernon’s horrible attempts at making himself appear more virile and masculine through his arsed attempts at fishing in the lake— a terrible mistake as it was already, having gone on about knowing that he’ll most definitely catch the largest tarpon humanity will ever see, his first mistake, really, seeing as they were currently engaging in recreational activities at a _freshwater_ lake— and Petunia’s insults towards Lily when she’d tried to correct Vernon, she’d found herself distancing herself from them slowly but surely. He hadn’t even been _holding_ the rod correctly, for heaven’s sake.

If he’d at any point given her the rod, she was sure to catch at least something, but because of his notions that women were only good in the kitchen and at home sweeping the floors, he hadn’t even so much as let _go_ of the rod, as if it was more dear to him than his _fiance._ Lily had a feeling that this had been the first time he’d ever even acquainted himself with the likes of fishing.

It’d been slightly amusing at first to watch Vernon fish and Petunia clapping him on, and in fact, the first time he’d thrown the rod, the hook had gotten caught in one of his belt loops, but soon, it just got annoying with his persistence to go on, still not yet having realised that there was no chance of him catching a tarpon, not even a chance of him catching _anything,_ really. It didn’t stop Petunia from clapping for him.

She didn’t at all see what her sister saw in her oaf of a boyfriend, but then again, she didn’t really see much in the men that acquainted themselves with her, none of them catching her eye or making her heart flutter as it was described in the books that she entertained her eyes with in her free time. Perhaps she had been born in the wrong time period, or perhaps she was too picky when it came to finding the supposed one, but she couldn’t at all see herself settling for anyone less than what she looked for— _whatever_ she was looking for. Why should she be unhappy with someone she didn’t love? As lonely as she was— relationship-wise— she’d much rather be alone than with anyone who wasn’t her emotional equal.

Respectful men? Sure, she supposed she met enough of them to crowd a room or two, but none had that _sparkle_ in their eye, none had the passion that met one as fiery as her own. She wasn’t going to settle down with a man who should have been respectful from the start, because it was like asking for a meal at only a _decent_ restaurant and be served with a meal that was _equally_ decent, for it had been what she expected. She wanted unpredictability, in a good sense, not the _one-day-I’ll-assault-you-after-coming-off-as-a-good-person_ unpredictability.

Perhaps her generation had spent so much time dwelling on finding love that it had become commonplace for people to rush into relationships, relationships that they should have known were destined to fall apart from the very beginning, and that the feeling had dwindled in the world because so many had begun falling out of it.

If she had been born earlier, maybe she’d been subjected to the love that she’d like to think she’d like. On the dates that she’d gone on in the past, she supposed they were decent enough dates, though nothing too far out of it, and a simple dinner was completely fine, but they didn’t seem as if much thought had been put into them. She’d like to think that she was worth at least _some_ thought, but obviously, she wasn’t begging for thousands of dollars from her bridesmaids, wasn’t begging for anything but consideration from them. Honestly, she wouldn’t have even _minded_ if someone took her on a date to the supermarket so long as they thought it out with the consideration that all good people deserved.

Or, as an idea that she liked to ball up and throw off into the corner, she wasn’t worthy of finding love, but if that was the case, then men— both of the respectful and the disrespectful sort— wouldn’t be queuing up to ask her out on a date, to which she almost always turned them down, not at all feeling the connection that she so desperately seeked.

But on another note, if someone with the likes of _Vernon_ had been able to bag her sister, who could be quite the person when she treated Lily with the sisterly love that she wanted from her, then perhaps love wasn’t at all dead. Petunia surely wasn’t in it for the looks, and if she was, then she was in dire need of a visit to the optometrist.

If she had a boyfriend sitting beside her right at that very moment, a very attractive man with cleverness to boot— though not so much as he’d always beat her in banter, because she considered herself a goddess with words, almost always able to outstump others verbally— she’d like to imagine that they were coming up with the funniest ways to describe Vernon’s failed attempts to so much as reel in a weed of some sort, but, of course, there was no indisputably beautiful man sitting beside her. A shame, that.

And she didn’t want to measure her worth by her relationship status, quite loving the notion of being an independent woman, but she could still be an independent woman with a _man_ beside her, holding her hand and doing whatever it was that a loving boyfriend did.

But, no boyfriend, no one to laugh at Vernon with, no one.

She sighed.

Her eyes travelled over to the other families, who had begun gathering for the solar eclipse that was supposed to happen today in a few moments, which had been another reason as to why her family had chosen _this_ particular day to go out together. They’d said it killed two birds with one stone— a motto that Vernon probably most definitely lived by literally, having boasted about his ‘successful’ hunting expeditions, meaning that he’d succeeded in the bloodshed of poor, innocent animals that he’d later gone on to hang on his walls as trophies. Vernon and her father had begun to put away the fishing supplies, and she was sure that he would soon begin to bust into a boast about how expensive his solar eclipse-designed glasses were, as if the frames would let him view the phenomenon better as opposed to the glasses that Lily had picked up from the nearby convenience store. She was practically _daring_ him to speak.

Surely enough, after her parents had beckoned her over to them, having chosen a spot where they could easily view the eclipse, the clouds had cleared away enough so that the sun was very much in sight, shining brightly down at the onlookers, as if to call them idiots for choosing this day to look _up_ at it, as if on any other occasion they would have simply gone blind from just laying their eyes upon it.

The eclipse was scheduled to happen any second now, and she’d settled down beside her mum, her feet once again skimming the surface of the water. There were many groups of people relaxing on the lake now, engaged in conversations with one another, excitement written over their faces as they awaited the passage of the moon covering the sun with her own family talking.

“I heard that seeing an eclipse means that someone will die,” Vernon gruffed, and she wanted so badly to refute his statement, but anything that came out of her mouth would make Petunia shush her and say that Vernon knew what he was talking about because he had a fancy degree in philosophy, like having such a degree made _him_ a philosopher, as if the minds of Socrates and Aristotle had nothing on _him._

Instead, she chose to ignore him, because to say something, _anything_ smart, in the presence of her parents would just make them disappointed in her, and so she held her tongue, if just for that moment. She found her eyes wondering, finding a boy who had gone astray from the rest of his family, who hadn’t seem to notice because they were too preoccupied with the patterns of the sun and the moon, and the next thing she knew, he had jumped into the lake.

He _jumped_ into the lake.

Oh god.

What was she to do? Should she intervene in business that wasn’t her own? Surely the boy knew how to swim, otherwise he wouldn’t have willingly thrown himself into the perils of the water, but then again, he was a _child_ who didn’t know any better, hadn’t gone through life to fully understand what was right and wrong just yet.

Her eyes darted towards the crowds, because surely _someone_ would have noticed a small boy plunging into the water, mesmerised by the reflection of the sun on the surface of the water, but people only continued smiling and laughing, completely unaware of what was happening in the lake. She’d nearly turned back to the conversation herself, when the boy began flailing in the water, and nevermind the fact that she was wearing clothing _completely_ unsuitable for swimming— she hadn’t even _expected_ to go swimming at all— and she knew that there was really one option for her.

She stood from her spot, kicking off her shoes and running off of the pier, ignoring the protests from her parents and the shrieks coming from Petunia at her abruptness. The water completely overtook her nostrils, filling them, before she emerged, kicking against the forces of the water as quickly as she possibly could before the boy succumbed to the depths of the lake, and he was visibly drowning now, trying his hardest as to not drown.

She pushed against the water, and she’d nearly considered holding out her hand, but he was quite possibly too terrified to register her actions. She hadn’t even _had_ to do anything, because she hadn’t noticed that her brash display of jumping into the lake from the pier had attracted the attention of loads of people, even more than the child had, because his father had launched into his boat— already revved up and ready to go— to save the child.

She had jumped into the water for nothing.

Or perhaps she had, if it helped to rescue the boy and if it meant that there’d be one less dead person in the world.

“Take my hand,” the man told her, and she’d tried really hard to reach up, but from the reflection on his sunglasses she could see the moon passing over the sun in that very instance, signaling the start of the eclipse. Why she took notice of that small detail, she did not know, though it seemed like a very ominous sign of impending doom, and she would have laughed if she could at Vernon’s beliefs, as if _she_ was the one to die. “Miss?”

She snapped out of it, and she was finally able to move her hand, but she hadn’t even managed to so far as to even brush fingers with the man— one with slightly greying hair and a protruding belly, seeming to be the embodiment of a fisher dad— when she felt something pulling at her foot, some sort of invisible force keeping her in the water, and she felt her heart lurch.

Had she upset some water spirit in the past? Why was—

There was only one instance in which water could ever burn someone, that only instance being when one was being submerged in water, filling their lungs and throat and nose to the point that they couldn’t breathe, and water wasn’t at all supposed to do that, was supposed to put _out_ things that burned, not have the property of burning, but that was the only sensation that she could properly understand now as the water pushed at her from every direction.

 _Get up,_ she told herself. She _knew_ how to avoid drowning, had read up on it before, and she _knew_ that she had to stop moving, had to keep thrashing and flailing about, but this force, gravity, _whatever_ it was, was keeping her from emerging from the surface.

She was sure to hear screaming of some sort, or perhaps everyone had taken to observing the eclipse, forgetting about the redhead who was surely to succumb to her death, but fighting for her life was wearing thin as much as she wanted to stay alive, and she felt her eyes closing.

Now, there was nothing soothing about the water as it pulled her down to its murky depths.

Then she saw black.

* * *

 It felt like eternity since she’d woken up, and she was still _completely_ aware of how much the water— although she was lying flat on the ground now— was burning her, having made its way in her now and had worked its way into her system.

She felt herself cough up a small burst of water, opening her eyes as she expected the concerned stares of her parents and exasperated stares of Petunia and Vernon, but instead, she found herself looking into the concerned eyes of two unknown girls around her age. Upon seeing that she wasn’t dead— or, maybe she _was_ dead, and this was the first thing that she was supposed to see when entering the afterlife—, they breathed a sigh of relief, smiling warmly at her.

“Oh, Princess!” the blonde one exclaimed, “We nearly thought you were done for when we found you in the water.”

“Had us shocked there, you did,” the brunette agreed, “The Prince will be in for such news, especially on your first day here.”

“I— _Princess?”_ she exclaimed, blinking at these strange women, “I’m not a princess?”

They looked at her as if _she_ was the one uttering nonsensical words, and the brunette shook her head, muttering, “You must have hit your head harder than I thought.”

“Drowning does _not_ affect the memory part of my brain,” she huffed, but when she’d finally come to her senses, she realised that she was _not_ at the lake, was nowhere near the lake, the only body of water being a pond of some sort in an ornate garden, designed as if it was _meant_ for royalty. Where _was s_ he?

Perhaps she _had_ hit her head a bit too hard. Maybe she had hit a rock on the way down, but after feeling the top of her head for any gash of any sort, her hand came back with nothing except for the knowledge that her hair, which had been tied up in a ponytail before, was now up in a wet plait wrapped around her head, spurring on even _more_ questions.

She attempted to stand up quickly from her spot, causing the two to rush at her side, and the blonde tugged at her arm, keeping her down. “Princess—”

“Again, you must be mistaken—”

“Please be careful,” she finished, securing a towel around Lily’s person, and she was completely aware of how her long sleeve and jeans had been traded for a flowy ivory dress that cascaded down her legs and reached the floor, though the sleeves themselves were still long. “The prince will be awfully upset if something treacherous occured to you.”

“The prince, right,” she said, “It’s almost like he’s asked my hand in marriage from the way you’ve bloody said it.”

Their eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, and if they were looking at her as if she was from another world, then now she was an _alien_ to be astonished at. “Are you sure you’re all right, Princess?”

When you discount the fact that she almost bloody _drowned,_ then she was completely fine, dandy even.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I—”

She stopped in the middle of her sentence, staring at them, unblinking, because if this was the first time that she’d come here to meet this so-called Prince, that if she died and he’d be devastated, then… “I’m engaged to him,” she said, more as a statement more than a question.

The truth seemed to settle on her, like a chill that had started down her spine but had stopped halfway, seeping into her bones, because she truly had no idea where she was, who these people were, _why_ they were calling her a princess, and _why_ she was engaged to a man she didn’t know. There were _so_ many questions, and they seemed all the less wiser to her confusion because they seemed _just_ as confused as she was.

Wasn’t she just saving a little boy just a few moments ago?

Then again, she was also _drowning_ a moment ago.

Had she somehow, under the strange powers of the solar eclipse, been taken back to another time period?

She could feel the tightness of the corset restraining the sides of her body, squeezing from every possible direction, as well as the looseness and liberty that she felt near her lower regions in sharp contrast, suggesting that she was in a time nowhere near her present time. She wanted to rip off the corset, to return to her comfortable tees and shorts, to return to her rightful time and era, where _technology_ existed, where her loving family lived, and where she was _not_ being accosted by people who were insistent that she was of royalty.

“You were very much against marrying him,” the brunette said in concern, nodding slightly.

“I was?”

They didn’t delight her with an answer, only looking at her patronisingly, and the sudden sound of frantic horse steps against the hard ground, grabbing their attentions, including her own, her eyes making out the sight of a man nearing them. “Good afternoon, Dorcas, Alice,” he said, nodding at them when he neared them, and then he turned towards her, smiling at her with a crooked grin. “Princess.”

She’d nearly accused him of being just as out of his mind as the others were, _would_ have too, if she didn’t take in the sight of him adorned in an expensive outfit of some sort, seeming to have been made from the finest materials of the time, an outfit almost equally— but not quite there— as attractive as he was, with golden honey-coloured eyes and beautiful unkempt hair that seemed that stick out in every direction, and his appearance itself already screamed out who he was, the so-called Prince as they’d described him. She merely stared at him, unsure of how exactly to respond, was at a _complete_ loss for words because of how unfathomable _beautiful_ he was, and it made _so_ much sense as to why she’d never stumbled upon anyone with an appearance matching his own if men of his like only existed in the past.

His eyebrows drew together when she didn’t answer. “All right, Princess?”

She sighed, because no matter _how_ attractive this man claiming to be a prince was, she was _not_ going to be swayed by these people, who were clearly delusional in their notions of sovereignty. “Look, I don’t know what you lot are on, but I’m not this Princess you make me out to be—”

He looked over to the blonde and brunette, who immediately took this as a cue to slip away, and, so it seemed, it was his turn to sigh now. “I know you don’t want to marry me, but—” He stopped, squinting his eyes at her as he scrutinised the state that she was in. “Princess, are you _wet?”_

“No, actually, this water materialised out of thin air,” she deadpanned, and upon his confused look, she felt a little bad for him, because it wasn’t _his_ fault she was in this predicament, wasn’t _his_ fault that she was in the wrong time period, wasn’t _his_ fault that she’d taken control of the life of a princess in a past life, even if she wouldn’t admit it herself.

She watched as his eyes flew from her wet hair, then towards the pond, and then back at her, to which his eyebrows flew into his hair, lying beneath the shadows of his dark curly locks as he blinked at her. “Out of morbid curiosity, you didn’t attempt to _drown_ yourself, did you?”  

“I— _what?”_

“Princess—”

“I have a name, you know,” she interrupted, wanting to know what she was to be addressed as, and he nodded.

“Lily—”

 _“Lily?”_ she repeated, unable to conceive _just_ how coincidental it was, that out of all the time periods she could have travelled back to, out of all the people who have lived and ever lived, with people of all names, she’d taken to taking over the life of a woman who shared _her_ name, and she ignored the thud her heart made at how nicely the name had fallen out of his lips, the sound coming out smoother than glass.

“Yes,” he said slowly, as if she was going to interject once again, “Unless you’ve changed your name without my knowledge.”

“I _haven’t, Louis,”_ she responded, knowing full well that that probably wasn’t at all his name, but when she thought back to any king of the past, her mind jumped back to King Louis IV, the Sun King, Bourbon King, _that_ king.

He looked affronted. “My name is James.”

“Are you sure?” she replied, smiling coyly at the fact that he was so named after _another_ famous ruler. Lovely. “I’d thought you’d changed your name without my knowledge.”

The ludicrosity that seemed to have formed on his face seemed to dissipate quickly at the realisation that she’d only been teasing him by using his own words, when really, she had wanted to slyly learn his name without seeming as if she was a case that needed to be taken to whatever this time’s equivalent of a mental institution was. He shook his head at her, that smile back on his face now.

“I’d almost forgotten how clever you are,” he said, a statement that did not require a response, and he instead reached his hand out to help her up, adding, “Only if you don’t mind taking my hand.”

She hesitantly put her hand in his, hoping that he didn’t pose a threat to her and felt warmth spread throughout her person, and at her full height, she could see _just_ how much he towered over her, and he flashed her with that crooked grin of his, the top right corners of his lips gravitating upwards. “What?” she inquired when he did not say anything else.

He shook his head at her. “I can’t say. As much as I’m your betrothed, I feel that I don’t have the right to inform you of your apparent beauty.”

She couldn’t help the flush that had threatened to bloom over her cheeks, spreading like the pollen of a dandelion in the warm spring air, because this man, who she had only known for at most _five_ minutes, was making her feel warmth in her heart that she didn’t know she could feel, for no one had ever made her feel this way before. “You just did.”

He cocked his head to the side, the edges of his lips quirking upwards. “It appears I have,” he agreed, “Your cheeks are redder than your hair.”

Her hand shot up to her hair, feeling the damp braids beneath her fingers, still very much secured around her hair, and she reached around to where the pins were holding them up, because surely she had to look completely different. She _couldn’t_ look the same as she did from her time because how could people recognise her if she looked the same? Her hair came out loose, and she ignored the way in which his eyes widened at her actions, as if it was a bloody _crime_ to walk around with loose hair.

She picked up a strand of her hair, and drawing it up close to her face, she nearly threw it down in frustration.

It was the _same_ exact shade as the hair that she’d become familiar with seeing everyday when she looked into her mirror, and she rushed over to the water, staring at her reflection as her very own face looked back at her, looking terrified of this newfound discovery, causing at least a million more questions to form in her head about just _what_ was happening.

This was all too strange to be reality, she thought, yet so _fascinating_ . She pinched herself, testing to see if this truly _was_ real or if she was dreaming and jumped when she felt pain shoot through herself, and she wondered if the universe had intended to send her back to this time for whatever reason, because this couldn’t at all be a random event, not when the weather was involved, not when she could make out the traces of emerald-coloured green in her reflection’s eyes.

His reflection appeared beside hers quickly, a ripple appearing in the water. “Er, Princess?” he asked her, frowning slightly, “All right there?”

No, she wasn’t all right.

She was in a time and place that she couldn’t even pinpoint, her only company being a man who she didn’t even know for sure that she could trust, and she was being mistaken for a bloody _princess_ for goodness sake. The green of the grass wasn’t as green as how she was used to seeing it, a shade perhaps just a _few_ tints off from the vivid green that frequented her vision, and the flowers that were growing in the hedge in the near distant were of a different species than she was used to smell, and undoubtedly if she were to go over to sniff their aromas right now, she’d smell something _completely_ different than what she was used to.

Why _would_ she be all right, when the only coherent emotions that she could truly understand were bewilderment and slight fear at the unfamiliarity of everything?

Obviously, she smiled like there _wasn’t_ a torrential whirlwind that was her thoughts going on in her head. “Never been better.”

He smile widened attractively, and she wondered vaguely if the universe had sent her back solely because men of her own time were the lowest of the low, because she surely had never met anyone as attractive or irritatingly charming as he was, but no, that _couldn’t_ be why. The universe _surely_ would exist just to play matchmaker with her. If that had been the case— and it surely wasn’t— then they would have easily been born in the same time together.

There was no time for any more speculation, because she suddenly felt herself being placed atop the very same horse that he’d entered on and his presence right in front of her, the warmth emanating from his figure as if he was a fire. “What are you doing?”

He looked at her strangely, which, honestly, was a face that she was used to seeing. “Heading towards the castle? You nearly drowned right there.”

“I’m _fine,”_ she assured him, “I inhaled water. I didn’t bloody get stabbed, Doctor James, M.D.”

He sighed. “Princess, I’ve much to believe that the reason as to why you had taken it upon yourself to drown is because you don’t want to marry me. Please, at least let me make sure that you _are_ physically unharmed.”

She resigned, beginning to nod only to realise that he couldn’t see her, not when he was facing forward, and she sagged against his back, muttering, “All right.”

* * *

 Her irritation only seemed to grow more and more by the day.

She didn’t _want_ to be here, and as horrible as Petunia was, she still longed to return home, to her parents, to _Mary,_ and this castle just wasn’t for her, just didn’t give her the sense of homeliness that she longed for. It was _much_ too overwhelming for her, Lily Evans, who had lived in a family where her parents made _just_ enough for provide for her and her sister, and she couldn’t at all fathom how people could _live_ in it without feeling overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all.

And the poor prince, who was obviously trying his absolute hardest to make sure that she didn’t accidentally purposely try to stab him to death, was terribly patient with her for a reason unbeknownst to her.

She’d forsaken her shoes— if one could even _call_ them shoes— as well as her corset, James at least having the decency to turn around despite the dress being long enough to cover her as she threw the material somewhere in the dirt, and he had the audacity to look at her strangely, as if _comfortableness_ was a construct that she be abolished. She was _not_ about to let her poor organs shift under the weight and restrain of the bloody fabric, especially when she could give a rat’s arse about how small her waist was. _Hello,_ she was a _woman,_ not a mannequin to be ogled at. She was going to wear _just_ whatever she fancied wearing.

The castle physician had told them that she was fine, to which she let out a sound of triumph towards James, and she all but marched out of the castle with him close on her tail, as if she was _his_ responsibility. She might have been his betrothed, but she could manage everything on her own just well, thank you very much.

She sat down on a stone rather than on the bare grass, because she knew that the maids would wind up having to clean her clothes whether she liked it or not, and not getting any grass stains on the dress spared them at least _some_ semblance of painstaking effort, though she _did_ grant herself the liberty of burying her feet in the soft grass. He merely stared at her, as if the physician hadn’t taken into account that her state of mind would be out of whack from nearly drowning, but after a while, probably because he found it difficult to remain standing when she looked to be the epitome of comfort, he sat down on the stone beside her, being sure to leave a reasonable distance between them.

“You’re upset,” he observed, and her eye twitched slightly.

“I’m not.”

“You _are.”_

“As far as I’ve known, I’m fairly certain that I’m the person dictating what emotions I feel.”

“Lily, I— I know you don’t like me. Hell, you nearly _drowned_ yourself because you hold ill-disguised feelings towards me—”

“I don’t _not_ like you,” she interrupted him, “I don’t like _this.”_

“This?” he repeated, “What is ‘this’?”

“I’m a bloody _princess,”_ she laughed in incredulity, and because he probably didn’t know what to else to do in this situation with her, he awkwardly laughed along, waiting for her to continue, “I just— You’re not going to believe me if I tell you the truth.”

“I reckon the fact that I’ve yet to throw you in the dungeons tells enough.”

“It’d look like _treason_ if you were to throw _me_ into the dungeons.”

“I— yes,” he agreed, “But what I am trying to saying is that I _will_ believe you with whatever it is that you intend to tell me.”

She looked at him sceptically. “Promise you won’t throw me in the dungeons?”

He threw her a small, lopsided grin. “I’ll stay true to my word.”

She nodded, focusing her eyes on the ground, her foot playing with a tiny pebble nearby. “I’m not really the Princess.”

She felt his eyes on her. “Is that so?” he asked quietly. She nodded. “Sorry. I _do_ believe you, only you’re _exactly_ like the Princess. You have the exact same looks and personality, and—” His cheeks flushed red, and he cleared his throat, looking to say something _completely_ differently from what he’d probably intended to say. “It’s hard to fathom, is all. I don’t believe you have bad intentions or that you’re an evil sorceress, but I’m glad that you trust me enough to tell me.”

Her shoulders drooped with relief because he didn’t think she was crazy, and if he _did_ think she crazy, then he was at least kind enough to not say anything about her state of mind. “I— please don’t tell anyone.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I don’t even know how it happened myself.”

“I realised that.”

“Only that it happened during a solar eclipse, and I got pulled down water and ended up here instead.”

He blinked at her before nodding, taking her information in. She hoped that he wasn’t thinking about how completely insane she appeared to be. When he didn’t say anything else, apparently seeming to still process her words, he looked at her and gave her a reassuring smile. “I don’t think you’re mad, if that’s what _you’re_ thinking. It’s not too far off from what you’ve said about not being the Princess.”

“I— thank you.”

They drifted into a comfortable silence, or perhaps it was uncomfortable for him, but she distracted herself by watching as her toes sifted through the grass, the tingling sensation growing as she kept at it. Perhaps he couldn’t take the silence anymore, because then he opened his mouth once again, saying, “Do you know what you’re planning to do now? And, is your name Lily, or is it something else? I’d rather not call you by something that you don’t prefer being called.”

“Lily’s my name. I was being truthful about that, but I honestly have no idea what to do. I— When was the wedding supposed to be?”

He grimaced at her question. “You won’t like the answer.”

“You know that doesn’t at all convince me to give it. It makes me want to know the answer even more.”

His eyes flickered towards her, and he heaved a big sigh. “It’s tomorrow.”

Laughter bubbled from her chest. “Oh, you’re hilarious, you Prince, you. That’s— oh god. I nearly thought you said—” She stopped, blinking once, then twice, then another time, and her head swiveled over in his direction, her eyes widening to nearly the size of her head. _“Tomorrow?”_

“I said you wouldn’t like the answer, didn’t I?”

“I— is that why you thought that I’d drowned myself earlier today?”

He nodded grimly. “I’m sorry, Lily,” he told her earnestly, and the manner in which he said it, with apology written all over his face, made her believe him, that this _wasn’t_ a half-hearted attempt to make her feel better. She couldn’t at all believe the circumstances in which she was pulled into, because to be brought back in time as a member of royalty was inconceivable enough, but to have _that_ happen _with_ the fact that she was to be wed to a man that she hardly knew the next day was absolutely _surreal, strange, terrifying._ “I don’t know how it happened, and I know you probably wanted to marry for love, that is, if you ever _wanted_ to get married. I’m sorry you’ve no other choice, and if it was up to me, I’d make sure that we _not_ get married if it made you happier—”

“I’ll do it,” she cut him off, and it was _his_ turn to be taken by surprise.

“Sorry?”

Sorry was _indeed_ the right reaction. When had she decided…?

Perhaps it was the fact that he looked so uncomfortable talking about a decision where they both had no say in and she’d taken pity upon the poor man, but perhaps there was also the fact that it might have possibly been fun to be married to— No, _what_ was she saying?

“Like you said, we don’t really have much of a choice, do we? And I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, if I’m not stuck here forever, but I think I should help your kingdom somehow. This marriage _will_ create an alliance, will it?”

Was _that_ what she was saying? She honestly had no idea.

“Yes, but you _are_ completely fine with it, are you?” he asked her in concern, “I don’t want you to drown yourself because you hate it. I want you to know that you have a choice. There’s also the possibility that you— I, well, I reckon it’s easier if I show you.”

“Show me… what?” His penis?

“I’ve got a book in my bedroom, and I swear I’ve no ulterior motives. It has stories of soulmates— don’t know if you believe in that sort of stuff, though. I— see, it explains that every person has an infinite amount of lifetimes that they will spend with the same person each life, and I think that might give you _some_ solace in the fact that you’ll maybe go back to your own time and meet your soulmate. You’ll forget about good old me, your soon-to-be first husband, and move on to your real love in another life. But as for now, I hope to at least be a good husband to you.”

Her eyes softened at his admission. “Thank you.”

“For what? I haven’t done anything, and—”

“Thank you for not making fun of me.”

He smiled kindly at her, and she felt her heart skip a beat at the expression on his face. “‘Course. I don’t see why I _would_ do that to you. You’re going through enough as it is.”

And for that, she appreciates his gestures.

* * *

 The marriage had been quite the formal event, given the giant crowd that had amassed to watch their wedding. A wedding. At nineteen years old. Well.

She’d never imagined marrying this young, but then again, she’d never expected for _any_ of this to happen to her. She didn’t think that she’d be holding hands with someone so soon, especially not with someone who she’d walk down the aisle with. This wasn’t _real,_ she reminded herself— well, it wasn’t _genuinely_ real, their love was. They couldn’t have something that didn’t exist, and perhaps a marriage with a man, who _hopefully_ wasn’t one of those horrendous unpredictable men, was better than a life in the dungeons.

She was sent here for a reason— _whatever_ reason unbeknownst to her— and _obviously_ if the universe had deliberately sent her _here_ out of all places, perhaps marriage was the first task that she’d have to accomplish.

The mere fact that she looked and acted _exactly_ like the princess whose life she’d taken over was quite terrifying, meaning that the universe either replicated people over time— a simple copy and paste over a few centuries should do the trick— or past lives were a real occurence, and she had happened to end up back in a time where her past life had existed. If the latter was true, then she quite fancied the notion that she used to be a princess, even if she _didn’t_ have any memories of ever being royal until a mere few hours ago, when she’d been put in the position of one.

The two castle maids, who she didn’t at all like to refer to them as since Alice and Dorcas worked completely fine, had helped her into the wedding gown, which, she supposed truly _was_ beautiful, with its ivory lace cascading like a waterfall over the bodice and down the actual gown, though it had taken much convincing for her to squeeze into another one of those cursed corsets. She genuinely hoped that her organs remained intact by the end of the day, if she could manage to keep it there for that long, but she’d like to think that she _was_ strong enough to endure it. If she could bloody withstand nearly a week of pain for practically the entirety of her lifetime, she was sure she could endure voluntary pain.

And James— soon to be _King_ James, this James who did _not_ write any new additions to the Bible— looked quite handsome, _more_ than handsome, in his wedding attire, and if looks were a major prerequisite in who she deemed the love of her life, then _he_ was most definitely the love of her life, what with his tousled hair that had _still_ somehow made him a million times more attractive and his suit, embellished with intricate designs that probably cost more than her _modern_ lifetime was worth.

Unfortunately— or perhaps fortunately— she did _not_ date based solely on looks, though she’d much prefer if a man was at least decent looking, not exactly wanting to kiss a pair of lips that belonged to any unattractive man, in both the figurative and literal sense, if she even _got_ that far with someone.

When they’d said their wedding vows, which was _quite_ the difference from what she was accustomed to back in _her_ real time and had only really included them agreeing to everything that the minister was saying, they were told to seal their vows off with a kiss, which, honestly, she should have expected. It brought her back to her other point about kissing briefly, but he’d leaned forward not too soon after, his eyes asking for her consent before she nodded smally. He smiled softly at her, pressing his lips against hers, though not for too long.

The length of the kiss didn’t matter though. How _could_ it matter, when he’d so obviously invested in this time’s equivalent to chapstick, his lips so soft and lush against hers, but more importantly, when his touch had sent warmth, _fire,_ throughout her body, starting from her lips to every other part of her, and she nearly, _almost,_ thought that she was getting married to a man that she loved, because no one had most definitely made her feel this way from just a kiss.

The cheers from the crowds pulled them apart, and she snapped out of it, pulling away, but not too harshly to the point that someone would notice her haste to get away from him. She’d nearly missed the manner in which his face had been contorted, twisted together as if he was confused by something, but it quickly shifted to content, almost as if he hadn’t been taken aback in the first place.

If _he_ could be nonplussed about it, _she_ could be as well.

It was easier said than done.

* * *

 “The roses are as red as your hair,” he pointed out one day as they walked through the gardens together, his hands in his pockets rather than intertwined with hers, despite the new title that they carried with one another. It was probably for the better, anyway, because it was a bit awkward already with her having no chance but to move into _his_ bedroom, though he’d been insistent that she take the bed and he the small lounge chair. She argued back that he had loads of empty bedrooms in the castle, and it wouldn’t at all hurt for her to just move in across the room or stay in the room that she’d taken to staying in the night before their marriage.

Obviously, their argument led to both of them sharing the bed together, because the grand size of it was more than enough to bed an entire family of dwarfs without any discomfort on any of their ends.

“You’re going to be a bit more original if you want to flatter me.”

“Why? We’re already married.”

 _“Married,_ not in love,” she pointed out, and she felt a small burst of victory at the way his lip had twitched in response. He leaned down to the flowers, pinching the stem with his fingers, careful not to prick himself on one of the thorns, and he managed to procure a rose, still fully intact, holding it out to her.

“Is your heart fluttering, my love?” he asked her, and she didn’t want to satisfy him, didn’t want him to know that her heart wasn’t merely fluttering but was blowing at approximately 156 miles per hour, almost the exact speed of that of a category 5 hurricane. She told herself that he was only using the dear phrase ironically, but to see an attractive man holding an equally beautiful flower out to her was nearly enough to just send chillpricks down her spine.

“‘Is your garden all right?’ is the real question,” she retorted, though she still accepted the flower from his hand. She’d have put it in her hair if it didn’t blend in with the colour, and what _honestly_ was the point if one couldn’t see the work of nature? “You’ve killed this flower, you have.”

“There’s loads of opportunities for it to get replaced. The way that I see it, nature still carries on, and the next bunch will be as equally nice.”

“You’re getting quite poetic, you know,” she chirped, “Is it a course you’re required to take as a prince?”

“Flattering beautiful women?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

She snorted. “If _that’s_ a course, then I’d say you’ve failed.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, big time.”

“I’m sorry. I’d thought I’d passed because I ended up marrying the prettiest woman in this kingdom. World, even,” he apologised, though he had absolutely no reason to be, and the amusement in his tone told her that he was well aware of that fact as well. He held his hand out to her, and she merely looked at it, confused as to what he was insinuating. “Shall we continue onwards?”

She continued staring at his hand, the offending hand that had plucked a rose _just_ for her to scorn at, and when she didn’t reach out, he sighed, stuffing it back into his pocket before walking forward without waiting for her. “Oi!” she called out, and he stopped, turning around to look at her with a small pleased expression on his face, “You can’t just drop a compliment to me and then leave. That’s not very chivalrous of someone as noble as you are.”

With that, she pulled his hand out of his pocket, slapping her hand into his and squeezing it tightly, out of emphasis more than anything else. “Then, would you say that I _have_ passed my class of courting women?”

“Oh, sure,” she replied nonchalantly as they resumed walking, “I’d even say you’re top of your class.”

“Is that the case?”

She made a sound of agreement. “Considering the fact that you’d essentially be the only pupil, yes.”

He sighed dramatically, unclasping their hands so that he could clutch his heart. “Oh, you wound me, my love.”

“I suppose that means that you’ve also failed your defense classes.”

“Oh, not I,” he refuted, having taken to holding her hand once again and consequently filling her heart with flowers nearly akin to the bright red roses decorating the walkways of the castle grounds, “I merely let you defeat me this round.”

“And if we were to battle without going easy on the other?”

“Your question implies that you truly _don’t_ know the outcome of such an event.”

“I’d like to know _your_ take on it.”

“The answer is _quite_ obvious.”

“To an opinionated question?” she retorted, stifling a snort, “Oh, yes. Please, enlighten the slow thinkers.”

His lips quirked upwards, and he zeroed in on her face, close enough so that if he were to exhale an obnoxious breath right onto her, she’d feel every single particle of his breath on her face. “I’d win.”

This time, she _did_ snort, and the atmosphere had been ruined so much by his response that she probably _should_ have expected— she _did_ expect it really, and if not, then he would have said something along the lines of how he’d _never_ not give up the opportunity to let her win to gain her favour. It caused her to drop her hand from his, and it flew up to her mouth instead, hiding her smile as she laughed at his ridiculousness. “I don’t doubt that you’ve all the brawn and brute, but _god,_ I just—”

She couldn’t finish her sentence, laughing even more at his response, not out of rudeness, but more out of the fact that it was just so _him,_ this man that she’d only known for the most of a week, this man that she was bloody _married_ to, whether she liked it or not, and the situation felt all the better when he joined in with her, with his eyes crinkling and shining and lips drawn upwards to reveal the dimple on his right cheek. He looked victorious in having been able to draw such a reaction from her, and with _that,_ it only served to make him look _so_ much more attractive than he already was, because there was something so beautiful about how a genuine smile could enhance a person’s features _so_ much _._

When their laughter died down, his smile remained, and his gaze upon her held curiosity as if it was difficult to pull away from her face, his honey-coloured eyes gleaming. Each time that he tried to pry his smile from his face, it only bounced back as if it were a magnet drawn towards her. “Princess.”

“Lily,” she corrected him, and he nodded easily.

“Lily,” he said, and the next words that fell out his lips came out rushed, as if they were kayaking in turbulent waters. “May I kiss you? Only there’s something so captivating about the way you smile, and I’d feel as if my heart might deflate if I couldn’t give you at least one genuine kiss.”

She felt herself swallowing at his admission, because there was something so _sincere_ in his words, which were so swirling with apprehension that he’d be shot down, that she couldn’t even pull herself to turning him down even if she _didn’t_ want to kiss him, and heaven knows that she would be an absolute _idiot_ to tell him no.

Her mind flashed back to the fairytales that she’d read as a child, the magic ever so present in the air when she read the expected ‘happily ever after’ near the end of the story, where she was filled with content knowing that all of the actions of the princess had _not_ been all for naught. It was strange now to be put in a similar situation, with the prince’s desires all balled up in the hopes that she told him the simple, three-lettered word that would change everything between them.

“What?” she said instead, blinking up at him.

No, no, _no._ This was _not_ the word she was supposed to say. It was one letter too many, and right now, they could have been—

No.

She could still fix this, could still secure that momentary happily ever after, that momentary happy for _now,_ because there was no denying the feelings that she held for him. She laughed at the movies where the two main characters had fallen all too easily for one another, had _scorned_ them, having thought that this was far too unrealistic to ever happen to anyone, yet alone _her,_ a romantic at heart and at soul, despite never having really found the one person to stand beside in times of comfort and need.

But it couldn’t be helped now, her feelings that was. Perhaps she’d been sent back to this time because she’d easily been born in the wrong time and place, or maybe this was all a fluke, that the universe hadn’t at all intended for her to be taken back by a few centuries.

Oh, _what_ did it matter?

She _wanted_ to kiss him. She’d be lying to herself and the universe if she said that she hadn’t thought about how soft his lips felt or how she most definitely had _not_ dreamed about him, even though physically he was beside her when all of these unconscious experiences had manifested in her mind. He was sweet and charming and shared her sense of humour, not to mention _just_ how undeniable beautiful he was.

She cleared her throat. “Yes. You can kiss me. Please,” she added, just as an afterthought, and his eyes, which had been widened at her abrupt response, seemed to shine even brighter, and the sensations which she’d been thinking of for nearly the past week had come to her once again as soon as his lips has fallen onto hers, his hands cupping her chin gently.

His lips tasted of sugar, were _sweet_ as sugar, and the rose in her hand fell to the ground, though she did not pay it much heed, knowing that he’d continue to pluck more from the bushes surrounding them as he deemed fit. His hands flew up to her hair, pulled into a nice, neat plait, and she heard the sounds of an hour of work on her hair being thrown to the dust, the pins falling to the ground as he undid it, threading his fingers— rough yet gentle— through her loosened strands before his hands returned to her face, tracing her cheeks as if he were mesmerised by them, by _her._

It was absolutely _nothing_ compared to their wedding kids that they’d share, because now, they had no audience to watch, no one to see _just_ how nearly passionate they were together. It was as if the moon collided with the sun, fell right against him, yet rather than darkness that would fall upon the world, their connection sent sunshine all around, as if this was all meant to be, as if he universe had made it so that they _were_ supposed to meet, only except she’d been born in the wrong time and this was the only way for them to ever come across one another.

Perhaps, _perhaps,_ they _were_ soulmates, two parts that made up one, just as the sun and the moon came together in times of an eclipse, drawing astonishment from the collective world because of just how perfectly they seemed to fit with one another.

And maybe she was exaggerating it just a bit— after all, they’d only known each other for such a short time— but, of course, her feelings could really be summed up with the fact that she didn’t want this kiss to end, didn’t want him to pull away just yet, just _ever._

Like all good things though, it _had_ to come to an end, though she hoped there would be many more, and—

Wait.

_No._

There _couldn’t_ be more, and she couldn’t at all remember the last time a man had given her such irrational thoughts, because returning to her own real time was so much more important than how bloody sweet his lips tasted or just how soft his hair felt beneath her fingertips as they thrummed through the motions of such a moment. It didn’t— _shouldn’t—_ matter just how warm he made her feel, sending a fiery sensation throughout her body, tiptoeing to every one of her vital organs and setting them aflame.

She had to go back, and he was well aware of the fact that she didn’t belong her just as much _she_ understood that mere fact, meaning that this was quite possibly the worst decision she’d ever made in her life, but—

Oh, _who_ was she kidding? This was most definitely _not_ the worst of her many mistakes, wasn’t even a mistake, really, not when he was just so _good_ at what he was doing, and when she felt him pulling away, she pulled him right back, her lips curving upwards when he didn’t protest her actions.

“Lily,” he murmured, and she hummed in response, feeling his lips leave hers, “Are we perhaps going a bit too far?”

“People kiss all the time,” she replied, and from the look on his face, she quickly added, “From what I’m used to seeing, I mean.”

“But, what about…?” he asked, trailing off, and he blinked at her, his eyebrows drawing together adorably in confusion as his eyes diverted up from her face up to her hair as he reached out for the strands. “Did I do this?”

“It’s more of what you _undid,_ really,” she said, smiling lightly as she ran her fingers through the waves, feeling a few knots as she made her way downwards. He looked at her in disbelief, as if he wasn’t quite sure if she truly _was_ fine with what he had done, but then he reflected her smile, an easy-going smile that went well with the roses surrounding his image as she saw him.

“It’s pretty. _You’re_ pretty. No, _beautiful._ If you’ve any synonyms that bring your appearance more justice, do tell. ‘Beautiful’ doesn’t even fully describe how beautiful you are.”

She felt her cheeks redden at his admission. “I suppose your words _do_ make my face turn as red as the roses.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, my love. You’re just as lovely as the roses.”

His words only served to brighten the red on her cheeks, and she pulled him down to her height once more.

* * *

 The week turned into weeks, and then months, and with each passing day, with each passing _second,_ she felt her feelings turning into something real, yet almost so out of this world that she couldn’t possibly fathom just how strongly she felt towards James, this man, who was quite possibly so imperfectly perfect that he couldn’t truly be real.

And falling in love with him was just as easy as loving the roses created to fill the world with just a bit more beauty, with just the desire to send more happiness throughout the world, especially when the sight of such brought delight to the faces of those who were lovely enough to receive them in dozens. He filled _her_ world with his beauty and his ability to easily bring a smile to her face, whether it was from his ostentatious declarations or his humorous words, it did not matter, because he was _such_ a joy in her world that it was bleak to think of without him.

She didn’t want to think about returning home.

It was a topic that they both avoided, because she knew that _he_ knew that she didn’t want to talk about it, and he respected her enough to not bring it up to her, not until she was ready to bring it up herself.

They had been walking over the bridge, the very same one that overlooked the pond that had brought her to this place— the kingdom of Gryffindor—, with her arms strung around his, a sure tell sign to the rest of the kingdom of just how very well they felt towards one another, if their other unsubtle displays of affection didn’t already show it.

“There is a solar eclipse tonight,” he told her, “Do you think it would bring you back?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, “I haven’t thought of it.”

“I know that this is completely wrong of me to say, but would it change anything to tell you that I don’t want you to go?”

She shook her head. “It’s completely understandable. I don’t want to leave you. I— I don’t even know what _will_ happen. Will anything _even_ happen? What if I leave you alone for the rest of your—“

He cut her off with a kiss, a slow, loving kiss that seemed to melt all her worries away, even if just for a small given moment. “Please don’t entertain that thought. Let’s cherish this time together. I know you can’t stay here forever.”

She took a deep breath, smiling softly at him, memorising every inch of his features, knowing that this might very well be the last time she’d ever make contact with the golden sequins that were his eyes or feel his warm embrace, so warm that he was practically the sun to her moon, shining so bright that all she could do is reflect his light to the best of her abilities in an attempt to pay tribute to his brilliance. “James—”

He cut her off by securing his arms around her, holding her in a tight embrace, and she didn’t want him to let go, not now, not _ever._ He rested his chin on her shoulder, telling her softly, “A lot of things are uncertain. We could have been in love 100 years ago. We could be in love 100 years from now. We don’t know that, but what I do know is that right now, I am _so_ in love with you, Lily. I will _always_ be in love with you.”

She froze in his arms, though inside of her, she felt just about every single inch of her bursting with movement, what with the manner in which her heart was racing and her lungs so in need of air, because his words echoed within her, a drum that proclaimed that he felt just as strongly as she felt towards him. And each heartbeat of hers measured the time that passed between his words and her silence, and she felt tears stinging her eyes, her arms gripping him tighter as she buried her face into his chest, a place that she’d found to be her comfort as of late.

She felt like such an _idiot,_ because any rational person would know that it was absolutely _idiotic_ to fall for someone who they couldn’t have, or at least for a person who was born _centuries_ before, in a time that was _completely_ far off from one’s own time, yet here she was, so in love that it was hard to breathe, hard to completely process every thought that struck her as she looked at him.

He felt her shaking slightly, she could tell, because he suddenly reached up to wipe at her eyes, “Don’t cry, my love,” he told her gently, and her heart nearly burst, because she would most likely never hear those endearing terms of affection from him, from _anyone,_ ever again, and he had raised the bar so high that she’d never find anyone else, not that she wanted to find anyone else. “We’re soulmates, remember?”

“Are we?” she asked, sniffling lightly, “I don’t believe we’ve established that.”

He didn’t take her words seriously though, just as she knew that he wouldn’t, and he smiled at her, pulling away from her to press a kiss on her lips, one too was far too quick for her to respond to, but before she could deepen it, he retracted from her. “Say that we’re soulmates.”

“The universe’s decision to drop me off in front of your castle does _not_ constitute us as soulmates.”

“It _does.”_

“It does _not.”_

“So you _are_ saying we’re soulmates?” he asked her, and she looked at him with an eyebrow raised, her eyes narrowed slightly before softening quickly at the sight of him.

“Yes,” she answered, and he laughed, reaching forward to press another kiss on her lips. She was overcome with a feeling, a feeling of what felt like bliss mixed in with something else, as he deepened the kiss, her hands tracing his face and her eyes closed. It quite possibly looked to be the most perfect moment of her life, with them standing over the bridge overlooking the mysterious waters, a serene and tranquil scene, with both of them not knowing that at that very moment, the water was reflecting the passing of the moon over the sun, blocking nearly all light from reaching the surface of the earth.

She didn’t think that this would be the last second she’d ever spend with him.

It was the very last thought that raced through her mind as she felt all energy seep from her bones and dissipate into the air. She hadn’t gotten the opportunity to tell him that she loved him, no matter how much she knew that he knew the true extent of her feelings, because words gave power to meanings, and she had to say it, _had_ to, but then her eyes flew shut, and—

She felt herself collapsing into his arms, a soft thud that was undoubtedly _nothing_ compared to how heavy she felt their hearts sink.

* * *

 She felt herself coughing up water, and she knew that there was really only one logical explanation as to what had just happened to her, but she still didn’t want to open her eyes, because to open her eyes would mean that she wouldn’t see him anywhere in her sight.

Still, she braced herself, her eyes opening slowly, only to be greeted by the sun, glaring brightly at her, such a juxtaposition to the pain within her that only made her heart pang, a soft reminder of how much she’d compared _him_ to the sun, and the moon, which was far from the sun now, was a sure-tell sign that the eclipse had come to an abrupt end.

He was gone.

He wasn’t anywhere in the crowds that had gathered around her, curious to see _who_ had somehow managed to nearly drown during a time of a solar eclipse— a phenomenon that happened just as often as one met the love of their lives— and had also somehow managed to take their eyes off of said eclipse. She’d looked not once, not twice, but _three_ times for him, and she’d strained her ears in hopes that he would call out to her using the cursed phrase that never failed to make her heart fly, that wonderfully wretched ‘My love,’ but he wasn’t there, wasn’t _anywhere._

She wondered if he felt as lonely as she felt right now, even with all of these people surrounding her, but she pushed that thought to the side, if just temporarily, because she was greeted with the sight of her family, her family that she hadn’t seen in _so_ long, and perhaps, she would be able to move on from him, her first love, with the passing of time.

Soulmates, he had said— _they_ had said.

She remembered the book that he’d so brought up to her, one with a scarlet red spine with the title _Eternally Bonded,_ but she’d never so once as picked it up, never having the need to because he’d described enough of it to her for her to completely visualize it. Now though, she _needed_ to find this book to get closure from it more than anything else, because she couldn’t very well tell anyone about what she had gone through in those seeming ten minutes— ten minutes that had actually turned out to be _four_ months— that she’d been away.

She didn’t want to entertain the fact that it could have been a dream. It _couldn’t_ have been a dream, because it felt so vivid and real that she couldn’t have possibly conjured up such images, couldn’t have possibly fallen in love with a figment of her own imagination.

He was _real,_ and that book would prove it to her. She _had_ to find it, quickly, because each morning, she’d slowly but surely wake up with one less detail about him forgotten. She didn’t _want_ to forget about him, and so she’d ventured to the library in search of answers.

She _needed_ to know his fate, couldn’t even ring him up to ask because he wasn’t there to answer.

It led her to a visit to the only place in the world with the answers.

The library was quiet, a peaceful atmosphere that only served to increase the surge of thoughts about him flowing through her head, as she very well didn’t have a distraction to occupy her mind, and a quick search in showed that the library _did_ indeed have a copy of the original book, directing her to the history section.

Luck, as she had it, would of course place the book at the very top shelf, the only shelf that she _couldn’t_ reach because she had _not_ been blessed with height, and she wouldn’t have been mad, knowing that practically _nobody_ in search of a good read came to the library to read _history,_ had it not been for the fact that the answer that she’d so desperately searched for was _right there,_ out of her reach.

“Someone looks like they’re having some trouble there,” a voice said behind her, and she jumped about a foot or two off of the ground at the suddenness, though there was something so _familiar_ about the voice that she couldn’t help but to turn around, the sight of such causing her heart to lurch, causing her to remember the exact shade of his eyes, lovely and golden and brown, a detail that she shamed herself in forgetting.

He was _right_ there, not in his royal wear, but in a green hoodie and square glasses, staring at her with amusement written all over his face, and she wanted to cry, wanted to _laugh_ because he was there. “James—”

He blinked at her, amusement turning into confusion. “I— yeah, that’d be my name. Dunno how you know it, but yeah. That’d be it.” He looked at her strangely, easily reaching up to take the book that she so seeked, but before she could take it from his hands and thank him, he read the description of it on the book aloud. “You actually buy this soulmate crap? Sounds like a load of rubbish, if you ask me.”

If she hadn’t physically fallen upon her knees, then her heart was kicked to the curb instead.

This wasn’t him, wasn’t her James, no matter how much he looked like him, how much he _sounded_ like him, because _her_ James was a strong believer in fate, and her heart hung heavier than it did the past week at the realisation that she would never see him again. She tried to snatch the book from his hands, but he was much taller than her, so much to the point that she didn’t stand a chance in retrieving it from him. “Right, _I_ believe that it’s a load of rubbish to be insulting the interests of someone you don’t even know.”

“Is that how you feel?” he responded, his lips quirking upwards, and she merely raised an eyebrow at him. He stuck out the hand that wasn’t holding the book out to her, saying, “I’d tell you my name, but apparently you already know it.”

She scrutinised his hand, though she didn’t shake it, folding her arms instead. “Lily Evans.”

“Perfect,” he grinned, “We’re not so much as strangers now, are we?”

“Oh, sure,” she replied dryly, “I’d even consider us friends if you let me—” She made another attempt to take the book from his books but failed, his arm pulling upwards at the last second to keep her from taking it. “—Have the bloody book.”

It was quite terrifying at the fact that he looked _so_ much like him, was a carbon copy of her James and _shared_ his name, the only real difference being that he wasn’t as this cocky as she’d remembered him to be, but at her frustration, he smiled, a smile that was just _so_ him, a smile that brought warmth to her heart, a wonder that she would later marvel at. Right now, though, she was irritated by him, and so she took it upon herself to shift all of her weight onto a foot, stepping on his shoe, to which he let out a small yelp, and when his grip on the book loosened, she pried it from his fingers, letting out a quick apology before leaving him.

It wasn’t long until she’d settled down at a table when he decided to occupy the next seat right beside her, similar to a persistent bug whose goal was to annoy her to no end.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Goes to say a lot if I’ve taken to hanging out in a bloody _library,_ doesn’t it?”

“I’m sure when this library was built its creators had much better purposes in mind rather than to let people chat up strangers.”

“You’ve forgotten one small fact,” he brought up, the corner of his lip rising, “We’re not strangers.”

“Right, because knowing someone’s name makes you perfectly knowledgeable about them.”

 _“Precisely,”_ he grinned, and he picked up the book from her, not out of her reach, but just enough to examine it, “You think it’s weird that this was in the history section, though? I’d have expected it to be of the _Lord of the Rings_ genre, fantasy and all of that.”

“I heard you the first time you called the concept of soulmates rubbish. Just because _you_ don’t believe in love—”

“I said I didn’t believe in _soulmates,_ not love.”

She scoffed at him, flipping open the book, and hypocrisy seemed to be looking at her directly in the eye when he leaned over to get a view of the pages. “You seem quite interested for someone who doesn’t believe in the contents of this book.”

“‘Course I’m interested,” he replied easily, shooting her a grin, and she tried her hardest to not grimace at him, because it shouldn’t— _doesn’t—_ matter how much he looked and sounded like her love. Her heart should _not_ flutter at his words; it’d been _much_ too short for her to have such a reaction from someone else, no matter the technicalities that held that it had been centuries since she’d been with her love, no matter the fact that she _had_ to move on.

She flipped open the page rather than saying a word to him. He at least had the mind to not say anything else, though he’d moved the book over so that he could get a good view of the pages, and she resigned, letting him read along with her so as to keep him quiet, but her hopes were thrown to the dust, because of _course_ he was one of the types to _always_ have something to say.

 _“As the world would have it, soulmates cannot live in a world without the other. In such cases, the universe may work to bring them together, just as the sun and the moon align in three dimensions,”_ he read, and he scoffed, opening his mouth to add a comment, but she quickly cut him off.

“Where do you see that?” she asked, because she’d only just finished reading the first page, and nowhere did it say _anything_ about an eclipse.

“Right _here,”_ he said, tapping the part that she’d _yet_ to read, and she wondered how he was able to read so quickly, unless he’d taken to skimming, but from his manner, she had a feeling that he was reading it word-for-word, bit-by-bit in order to scour every piece of information he could get just to prove his argument. “Are you telling me that you really think this is legitimate? It’s about as believable as astrology.”

“That’s rich coming from you. _I’m_ surprised you haven’t asked for my birthday to check our compatibility.”

He grinned at her. “If you wanted to know my birthday, you could have just asked, Evans.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Her eyes continued flying over the page, ignoring the rush that her heart got from their banter, and as he drummed his fingers against the table, she could tell that he was waiting for her to finish reading.

_There has never been an instance where two souls have been separated from one another through life and death. They will always unite in their next life._

Those mere lines caused her to heart to thrum out with hope, that she _hadn’t_ left him alone by himself, hadn’t merely brought feeling to his heart only for her to squash it down, because if these lines were true, then she _hadn’t_ left him, not really, if the universe had a way of making two people eternally happy upon meeting one another. She’d probably left the boy sitting beside her terrified, because the change in her disposition was so sudden, so _quick_ to change, that anyone would have been startled by her.

It had meant that she was to be united with him once again.

And as she turned around to face him, feeling stars in her eyes and in her heart, it was as if the revelation had impaired her vision, because the way he was looking at her made her heart fill with love, a look that was so strikingly _identical_ to that of her love’s that it terrified her. His gaze seemed to be burning a hole into her, so intense that she couldn’t help but shiver, an action that snapped him out of it as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

That moment, seemingly, was short-lasting.

“You cold?” he asked her, and before she could answer, without any hesitation, he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, handing it out to her as the bulges in his arms were revealed, “Here.”

“I’m not cold,” she said stubbornly, but he didn’t appear to believe her, his arm still spread out towards her.

“Don’t make me force this onto you.”

“I hope you realise that even if I _was_ cold, I wouldn’t accept it. We’re not close like that,” she replied, and, as an afterthought, she added, “And wouldn’t that just make _you_ cold?”

“Nah. I don’t get cold.”

“The hairs standing up on your arms say otherwise.”

“You must be staring pretty hard to notice my arm hairs.”

“I’ve got to look somewhere if a certain _someone_ is keeping me from staring at these pages.”

“I’m doing you a favour by keeping you from reading.”

“You’ve been reading _with_ me,” she pointed out, “For whatever reason that’s beyond me.”

He flashed her a lopsided smile, placing his arm with his sweatshirt down on the table. “Right? I dunno. It’s just— you look so bloody familiar to me and I don’t even know _why.”_

“I’m sure it’s because you’ve seen loads of redheads with green eyes around.”

He shook his head. “Not any as pretty as you. Sorry. Is that too forward of me?”

“I kind of got that some forwardness when you told me you were interested in me,” she deadpanned, though it didn’t at all mean that his words _didn’t_ send a torrent of feelings to her heart, because they most definitely had, and she wanted to think it was all because of how much he _looked_ like her love, but the small part of her knew that _that_ wasn’t the case, that there was some deeper meaning.

She knew that it couldn’t just be coincidence that she’d stumbled upon someone who looked _exactly_ like her James, sounded _exactly_ like her James, had the same _name_ as her James, especially when it had so happened that the same exact event had occurred before, where the Prince had found her to be the exact copy of the Princess whose life she’d temporarily taken over.

And it made her brain hurt to think about, but when forced to ponder her situation, she _had_ to endure the pain, _had_ to unlock the mystery surrounding the concept of soulmates, because the contents of this book was true, _had_ to be true if its words were specifically describing what she’d gone through. If such was the case— no, no _if_ s, because it most definitely _was_ the case— then it’d meant that her soul had gone back to the time where her past self had nearly died to fix the gap in time in which a soul was nearly about to walk this earth without its other half.

It had so happened that her soulmate had exchanged his rich fabrics for a comfortable hoodie that he was now offering to her as well as, apparently, a look of concern when she didn’t respond to whatever it was that he had to say, something that was most likely intended to work her nerves— the kind of annoyance that made her want to both roll her eyes until they fell out of her head while also laughing at his antics.

“Lily?” he asked her, and she blinked at him, his eyes filled with concern.

“I— sorry. What was it?”

He smiled at her and, of course, as she should have expected, he said, “I’m still offering up my sweatshirt if you want to wear it.”

“Oh, unfortunately, I’ve yet to change my mind in these past five minutes concerning sweatshirt offers.”

“Sweatshirts are bloody great and all, but you know,” he started, sighing loudly as he leaned back in his chair, “Sometimes I feel like I was born in the wrong century.”

She stopped in her tracks, turning towards him, “Oh?”

“Yeah. I’d literally _die_ to wear giant hoop skirts of the Elizabethan period,” he said seriously without any semblance of humour except for that small smile begging to grow on his face, and she scoffed at him.

She nearly reached over to take that hoodie from his hands, even if just to shut him up.

_Nearly._

* * *

 The soft squeaks of her boots against the wet pavement filled the air as the sky, which had been giving way to the clouds swirling in the sky, was nowhere to be seen, and in its memory were the droplets of rain coming down upon the ground.

She hadn’t really made any plans to leave the house that day, knowing that the weather forecast warned her of the impending doom that was to be the rain, but it was the day that her book was to be due and she’d had no other choice but to renew it, not exactly wanting to let go of the entire concept of soulmates right away.

It was probably not one of the best outfits to parade out in public with— wellies and an oversized tee was an insinuation that she was making no effort to look presentable— but then again, it wasn’t as if anyone was to see her, wasn’t as if she was even trying to _impress_ anyone. She’d have thrown on a rain jacket if it was the cold sort of rain, but, because of the _lovely_ geographic location of London each day, it was not. A jacket and the hot weather were _not_ to be mixed with, no matter the current fashions trends.

She made her way in and out of the library, the librarian in charge thankfully _not_ judging her for her wear, or, perhaps a better way to put it was not _visibly_ judging her, but it didn’t matter altogether because she’d come to the library too often to _not_ know all of the workers by name, and this woman was a kind saint named Margaret, who did _not_ comment on her attire. She was sure she’d come in this heavenly place in much worse wear, so it was nothing less than a surprise, really.

And it was easy enough, a simple few-step procedure that should have taken the most of thirty minutes that accounted for the time coming and going, but, because the universe tended to gravitate towards making the simplest matters into that of an incomprehension complexity, she’d been far too optimistic about the prospects of the very near future.

If she’d only continued to look straight ahead, no glances to the sides whatsoever, she wouldn’t have seen a head of black with water dripping down, making large splashes onto his sweatshirt and onto the ground, acting as if his mere appearance _wasn’t_ sending chills to her heart. _Idiot,_ she thought, because why was he wearing _that_ when it was so clearly raining outside, when the rich material looked as if it was easy to ruin from exposure to rain, when he was so clearly _wet_ from the weather, not even an umbrella in sight as he stood there commiserating with the depressing forces of nature.

“Ja— Potter,” she called out, and he looked up from his phone, his eyes snapping up towards her, looking so nearly akin to a lost puppy, though his expression quickly shifted as he caught sight of her, slipping his phone into his pocket as if it wouldn’t just make it wet as he was.

They’d made loads of encounters beforehand, seeing each other at least twice a week, and even though it took some time, he’d managed to chip away at her exterior, much to her chagrin. She couldn’t believe her resolves had been worn away _just_ like that because he was so irritatingly _himself,_ and she couldn’t at all bring herself to resist him.

“Lily,” he responded, an easygoing smile falling onto his face, and his hand flew up to pull his hair off of his face, walking towards her and stopping once he’d left a reasonable distance between them. He tapped at her book. “Not the best idea to get something so susceptible to the rain, is it?”

She shrugged lightly, tucking her loose hair behind her ears. “I’m sure if this book can withstand centuries of wear and tear, a little summer rain won’t do too much damage.”

“Is that what you call it?” he asked her, and he tugged at his sweatshirt to emphasize his words, “Don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I think this constitutes as more than just ‘summer rain’, as you so put it.”

 _“I_ think you’re a bit biased, considering the fact that you’ve no umbrella to shield you from the rain.”

“I think _you’re_ a bit biased, considering the fact that you _do_ have an umbrella to shield you from the rain.”

“Oh, but of course,” she replied, fighting a small smile, “How _else_ can I protect myself from the rain?”

“Easy. Stay indoors,” he said, and she was nearly about to point out the hypocrisy in his statement, but the way he was smiling widely at her showed that he absolutely _knew_ the implications of his words. She shoved the umbrella into his arms, and he was easily taken by surprise at her brash actions. “You don’t expect me to take this, do you?”

“I don’t expect you to act all high and noble, Prince James,” she shot back, “I don’t want you getting more wet than you already are. You’ll catch a cold.”

“This _may_ be hard to realise, but I’m already wet. _Very_ wet, actually, if you couldn’t discern from the fact that it looks like I’ve literally stepped out of the shower in my clothes.”

“I— why didn’t you bring an umbrella?” she asked him, ignoring his tongue-in-cheek response.

He shrugged. “You’d laugh.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You’re right,” he sighed dramatically, “You’ve so obviously been holding in laughter from the very start since we’ve met, and all I’ve wanted was to make you smile.” She nearly began to respond when he put his hand up. “You know that saying, ‘Time goes by when you’re having fun?’” She nodded. “I reckon I had a bit _too_ much fun in the library. Went in there at opening hours to study because my mum sort of owns it on the side and it’d be a waste if it was forsaken. My arse didn’t pay attention to the weather forecast, and… yeah. I got wet because I thought I could make it home, but obviously that didn’t work out the way I wanted it to.”

“Your mum…” she started, trailing off as the words processed in her mind. “Sorry. I— no, that’s not a matter to laugh at. It’s— it’s cute, actually.”

“What, my mum owning a library?” he asked with amusement.

 _“No,”_ she huffed, not able to fully understand _why_ she was so attracted to him. “The studying bit is cute.”

“Ah, that’s only because I go so early in hopes that you’ll come in.”

Oh, right.

 _That_ was why she was so attracted to him, what with his casual flirtations, as if he _wasn’t_ sending her heart soaring through the sky, in the midst of all of the rain, the action for him seeming to be as easy it was to breathe. There was also the fact that he was naturally her soulmate, their electromagnetic forces so strong that it seemed that it was nearly impossible for them to be separated, and apparently, it _was_ impossible if they couldn’t seem to escape from one another through another lifetime.

They’d found each other once again.

She poked him lightly with the umbrella. “You are _not_ getting sick because of me, you big idiot.”

“Actually, I’ll be getting sick from devouring literature and history, thank you very much,” he said, throwing her a lopsided grin, “Also with the occasional science, and, even more on occasion, _Lord of the Rings.”_

She held her book, properly enclosed in a bag, to her chest, and was just a bit affronted at his joke. “And to think I was going to offer to share my umbrella with you.”

Time, it appeared, seemed to fly by quickly, just as quick as he was to pounce, and he eagerly took the umbrella from her hand, opening it up and pulling her close to her, positioning the umbrella so that it hung over both of them. His arm was snugly around her, sending rains of emotions that pounded onto her heart. “I’d be an absolute _ponce_ to turn you down like that.”

“You’re an absolute ponce if you thought you could make it through all of this rain.”

“I’ve a hoodie. Do you really blame me? You could own the world with a hoodie if you really wanted to,” he replied, stopping momentarily, “Oi, where are we headed?”

“You’re the one with the umbrella, aren’t you? I think our main goal right now is getting you home.”

“It’s your umbrella, so it obviously means that we’re walking _you_ home first.”

“That doesn’t—”

“It means I get to return your umbrella to you on _another_ occasion,” he cut her off, smiling broadly, “Only if you’re fine with seeing me again, obviously.”

She blinked at him, once, then twice, then once more again, and then her shoulders sagged slightly. “I can’t even argue with you. You _know_ I’d love to see you again.”

“I didn’t, actually, but validation still feels good anyway.”

She hummed in response, and with the rain pit-pattering down onto the umbrella and onto the ground, it made a relaxing scene for the two of them. Their feet were nearly in sync with the other— left then right then left again— when, of course, her umbrella decided to _flip inside out_ at this very instant.

“Oh god. Why, why, _why—”_

James threw the umbrella to the side, not hesitating one second as he pulled his sweatshirt off over his head— a nice, maroon colour today— and used it in place of the cursed umbrella, holding it over her head rather than over his own as he led them somewhere safe with a cover, but there was just something so kind about his gesture, something so _familiar_ about it that she couldn’t help but lead her eyes towards his face, so intent on taking her to safety.

“James—” she started, not sure exactly how _this_ turn of events had occurred, but he wasn’t stopping, not until there was no more rain pelting down onto them, onto _her._

“Lily, come on. You don’t want to get wet. You’ll get sick, yeah?”

“Yes, but—”

“I sort of dragged you into this. Don’t get sick on my accord.”

“It’s really not your fault—”

“I don’t reckon it’s the best idea to argue in the rain. We really should—”

She cut him off with a kiss to the lips, standing up on the very tips of her toes and shutting him up effectively.

It was sweet and salty, just as popcorn was, with the rain intermixing with the taste of his lips, which hadn’t exactly parted open yet, because he was standing there with shock written all over his face, his lovely, gorgeous face that truly _had_ been sculpted by the universe and defined by the stars and eyes as golden as the radiance that came from the sun. Gold met green, just as the sun’s rays shone down onto the loveliness of the Earth, and from their closeness she could make out the small freckle dotting his skin _just_ below his left eye.

His fingers, poised over her head, had appeared to freeze, as if their touch stopped all of time, as if the universe decided to give her all the time in the world to study each and every one of his features.

And when he finally moved, a signal, his arms closed around her, one falling around her waist and the other, and she felt the weight of the world falling off of her shoulders, because the manner in which his lips moved against hers was so strikingly similar that she’d have to be absolute _idiot_ to think that this wasn’t her James. She was suddenly taken back to the sweet smell of flowers in the air, a rose in his hand rather than his hoodie, and she was hit with how much these events were paralleled with one another, how a kiss can take her back by many centuries while her feet remained in the same place.

But rather than the lovely crimson roses, they were met with rain instead, and somehow, it made it all the more lovelier because it made it _their_ moment in this present time, in this _lifetime._ What _hadn’t_ changed, though, was the fact that he _still_ glowed, _still_ shined for her, and the way in which he was holding her, with him cupping her chin gently, that sweatshirt of his having been forsaken about fifty fallen raindrops ago, was so reminiscent of what she’d gone through with him in the past.

It was beautifully tragic and sweet.

She was most definitely getting sick, which had been further supported by the fact that she’d already gone mad from _kissing_ someone in the rain, an idea that she’d thought to have become too overrated from how it was presented in the films, but now, she felt that she didn’t want to let go, didn’t want him to pull away.

But, of course, because the universe and time allowed them, they’d have all the time in the world to entertain to the other’s affections, all the _lifetimes._ It was the catalyst that made her pull away from him, if just for now.

When her eyes fluttered open, her eyelashes catching some of the rain that had fallen, rather than a grin, he stood there, astonishment written over his face as if she _hadn’t_ really kissed him, as if he couldn’t comprehend this turn of events. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, like he _hadn’t_ kissed her back.

“For what? It’s kind of what I’ve wanted to do with you as soon as I laid my eyes on you. That among other things, like holding your hand and talking about our feelings.”

She didn’t even bother to hide the red growing on her cheeks, instead choosing to pick up his hoodie from the ground. “I’m sorry for ruining your sweatshirt, then.”

“I’ve got millions of them,” he said, waving it off, and his hands flew upwards to brush his hair off of his face, “I do reckon we’re going to catch a cold, though.”

“It’s fine,” she smiled, “It’s _worth_ it, I’d say, if our first kiss in this lifetime was in the rain. That’s _quite_ the romance I look for in life.”

“This lifetime?” he repeated with a cock of his head, “You saying we’re soulmates?”

She didn’t delight him with an answer, instead tugging at his hand, saying, “Let’s get out of the rain before it makes you madder than you’ve already been.”

“On one condition.”

She looked at him with an eyebrow drawn, as if to question just _what_ this condition was. Instead of a verbal answer though, he merely grinned at her, reaching down to press a quick kiss to her lips before pulling her over to a nearby storefront with a proper outside cover, and the pelts of the rain stopped falling down onto them.

“You’ve got to set better conditions than _that,”_ she said, not able to help the smile threatening to burst onto her face.

“Obviously _that_ wasn’t the condition. Before you wildly proclaim that we’re soulmates,” he said with a sly grin, “We should go on a date first. Or loads of dates. Whichever suits your fancy.”

 _“You_ suit my fancy.”

“Yeah? Is that the soulmate-hoping side of you jumping out?”

“It’s the I-fancy-you side of me, actually,” she said, drawing a wide smile from him.

And though he didn’t believe in soulmates all too much yet, she knew that with all of the time that the universe was offering them, he’d eventually come to believing just as much as she did as well.

And with time, she’d come to realise that she had managed to fall in love with the same person once again.

Again and again and again and again.


End file.
